I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know that doing that was bad. I just wanted to know what would happen. But now everyone’s saying I’ve been naughty. I think Miss Berry’s going to tell me off. She’s going to call the policeman. He’ll blow his whistle and put me in prison. I’ll never be allowed to have sweeties again. And I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s bad, what I did. I’m crying, but she’s still cross with me. I want to say I’m sorry but she’s still cross with me. It happens all the time. I think I have a naughty disease. I do things but Miss Berry says they’re naughty. I never know why. I think it’s because I can’t think properly. Daddy sometimes says I’m special. He says it’s his job to teach special people. I wish he’d teach me instead of Miss Berry. He never gets cross when I make mistakes like this.
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
Little lady only 13. Never pretty enough but smart as can be. No friends just books. Mom overworked so no dinner just lonely. She was bullied for years: isolated in insecurity, abandonment, and unhappiness until she was 17. Senior year
One time above a little shop, An old greengrocer climbed on top, Despite himself he could not stop, The world had changed forever. The fruit of that old grocers loins, Became obsessed with notes and coins, She knew the club
The world is a race If you want to succeed, pick up your pace Keep running, focus, put in extra hours, fly solo But doesn’t this make you feel empty and hollow? Be yourself, be silly, be alive, spread joy